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THE MORTAL AND THE IMMORTAL : 



A SERMON, 



TREACHED IN 



ST. JAMES' CHURCH, BATON ROUGE, 



IN IMPROVEMENT OF THE 



CHARACTER AND DEATH 



OF THE 



HON. HENRY CLAY, 



BY THE 



Rev. JOHN S. CHADBOURNE. Rector 



NEW ORLEANS ; 

PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE PICAYUNE. 

1852. 



^ 



THE MORTAL AND THE IMMORTAL : 



A SERMON, 



PREACHED IN 



ST. JAMES' CHURCH, BATON ROUGE, 



IN IMPROVEMENT OF THE 



CHARACTER AND DEATH 



OF THE 



HON. HENRY CLAY, 



BY THE 



Rev. JOHN S. CHADBOURNE, Rector. 



• • • 



NEW ORLEANS : 

PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE PICAYUNE. 

1852. ■ 



CuCs 




dio-t> G-oz-. 









to 



to SERMON 



ON THE 



CHARACTER AND DEATH OF 



HON. HENRY CLAY. 



• 9 » 



2 Sam. iii., 38 A prince and a great man fallen. 

These words are a part of the lamentation of David 
over the death of Abner. Abner, a man of great military- 
talents and experience, has been treacherously slain by Joab ; 
and this too at a time when he had just been instrumental 
in putting an end to the civil war which followed the eleva- 
tion of David to the throne. The strong and universal 
expression of sorrow, therefore, which was called forth at 
his grave, was perfectly natural and just. The King, we 
are told, "lifted up his voice and wept at the grave of 
Abner, and all the people wept. And the King said unto 
his servants, know ye not that there is a prince and a great 
miin fallen this day in Israeli" 

Kindred emotions of sorrow now swell the hearts of the 
American people. A great man — great in our age — great 
in our century — great in the world's history — great in 
virtue — great in intellect — great in everything which can 
exalt the human character — has fallen. The event was not 
unexpected, and yet it broke upon us with stunning force. 

T/mt burning face extinguished ! T//af thunderous 
tongue stripped of its electrical fluid ! T/iat mighty spirit 



driven away from the earth ! That Nestor form consigned 
to the dust ! How strong, how remorseless, is Death ! He 
)ias smitten down our old pilot for the storm. He has torn 
our easles from the clouds. He has shattered and diminished 
our mountains. He has robbed our skies of their draperies. 
He has enriched himself with the spoils of genius, of wisdom, 
of patriotism, of glory. The winds, the cataracts, the thunders 
of nature remain, but those of Eloquence are no more ! 

The King of Terrors has hitherto been painted with a 
crowd of emaciated diseases following in his train; but 
you may now paint twenty million impoverished and mourn- 
ing Freemen in their place. All eyes are turned in sorrow 
to the grave. Partisan prejudice is dead. It yielded up its 
breath to Justice lung before the Mighty yielded up his 
to his God. 

To speak of the character of the illustrious dead merely 
for the purpose of euiogy, is no part of my intention. His 
cliaracter needs no eulogy. It is enshrined in the affections 
of every American heart. It is interwoven in threads of 
gold and purple, in the gorgeous web of his country's 
history through the long period of half a century. His 
monuments, more enduring than brass and marble, tower 
upon all the hills of our National prosperity and National 
^ory. His public services are emblazoned upon our 
National banner itself in many of its brightest stars. 
Freedom wall ever love and reverence him. History will 
be proud of him as one of her favorite sons. The sister 
ArJs, with their chisel, their pencil, their lyre, will delight to 
do him honor. His name can never die. When the Capitol, 
which he so long illuminated by bis eloquence, and so often 
preserved by his patriotism, shall have crumbled into ruins 
and have mingled with the dust, the great dome of his fame 
will still tower in unbroken strenQ:th, and in undiminished 
splendor over his country and over the world — a thmg upon 
which the sun may look down in his course and learn that 
he has a rival — a thing to sever the storm of treason — a 
thing upon which the angel of liberty will stand, whether 
freemen or serfs shall dwell below, with her stars and 
stripes all unfurled ! I do not, therefore, propose anything 
by way of eulogy. It would be presumptuous as well as 
useless ; it would be here out of place as well as insipid. 

In attempting to unfold his history, character, and destiny, 
I shall have two or three practical objects in view. 1..I 
would ^ay a me^ancholy debt, which patriotism owes to the 



great public services of the deceased. Patriotism demands 
our words. " The King lifted up his voice and wept, and 
all the people wept." Patriotism may know well enough 
that she can make the lauiels of her lamented one no 
greener, and yet she cannot refrain from bathing them wi h 
her tears. She would give expression to her gratitude ; 
she would speak of her loss. It is not only rational and 
just, but it is also wise and salutary for her to do so ; for 
this is one of th i ways by which she keeps the breath of 
life in her own soul. And the Pulpit, free from partisan 
sentiment, may ever properly be her agent in this work. 
What it did of old, it may now do — it may lift up its voice 
and wee;p over the great dead. 2- .1 would hold up before 
you a majestic examjde for your imitation. I would take 
yon out before the Alps of character that your souls may be 
sublimated. I would show you what a resolute and perse- 
vering man, though his early years may be overclouded 
by poverty and obscurity, can achieve for his own 
immortality, and for the welfare of his race, during the 
brief period allotted to man upon the earth. I would also 
shtAv you this great man with all his laurels upon him — 
himself almost idolised by his country — upon his knees, 
broken-hearted and penitent, before his God. We are told 
that when a dead body was cast into the tomb in which the 
bones of the Prophet Elisha were reposing, the body was 
electrified and restored to life by contact with the bones. 
The miracle was probably intended, in part, to teach the 
life-giving power of the example which the Prophet had 
left behind him. Of the examples of tlie good and great, 
death cannot rob us. 3. .1 would improve the melancholy 
event before us in admonishing you of the vanity of life — of 
the certain end of everything that is mortal. When the eyes 
of the whole nation are fixed upon the grave, it seems a 
seasonable time for the Pulpit to cry to them, in the spirit 
of Jonah to the slumbering people of Nineveh — " Yet a 
little while, and darkness and oblivion shall cover you all!" 

These several objects may best be accomplished, perhaps, 
by briefly regarding the illustrious dead from tlic following 
points of view : the Man— tlie Student — the Oiiator — the 
Patriot — the Christian — the Corpse — the Disembodied 
Spirit. 

The Man. We are first to glance at his social history 
and character. Henry Clay was born April 12, 1777, 
in Hanover county, Virginia. His father, also a native 

1* 



6 

of Virginia, was a minister of respectable standing in the 
Baptist denomination of that State. Both his parents were 
adorned by those social virtues that seldom fail to secure 
dignity and happiness in domestic life, and which are the 
richest legacy that parents can bequeath to their children. 
His father died when Henry was too young to afterwards 
have any recollection of his smiles and endearments. He 
left his wife with seven children to protect, and with scarcely 
any pecuniary means for their support. The straitened 
circumstances of the widow obliged her to put her sons to 
business before they had completed even an ordinaiy English 
education. At the age of fourteen years, the future states- 
man was placed in a store at Richmond. He was not 
destined, however, to remain long in this situation ; for his 
step-father (his mother had married again) discovering his 
uncommon natural talents, became warmly interested in 
bis behalf, and succeeded in obtaining for him a side-clerk- 
ship in the office of the Clerk of the High Court of Chan- 
cery. Here his mean dress and awkward manners at first 
excited the ridicule of his companions ; but his brilliant 
mind and strict attention to his duties soon commanded, 
their respect and admiration. While in this situation, he 
attracted the notice of C"hancellor Wythe — a name almost 
as great in our jurisprudence as it is upon our Declaration 
of Independence — who, charmed by his genius and industry, 
at once extended to him a friendship which he ever after- 
wards enjoyed. The Chancellor took him nobly by the 
hand ; he threw open to him his ample library ; he per- 
suaded him to embrace the profession of law ; and was 
thus instrumental in raising him from obscurity, and in 
giving him to his country and to the world. In 1797, Mr. 
Clay was admitted to practise law at the bar of his native 
State ; and, in the autumn of the same year, he removed to 
Kentucky to establish himself in his profession. He after- 
wards referred to his comfortless condition and gloomy 
prospects at this time, in the following touching language : 
** I established myself in Lexington, without patrons, with- 
out the favor or countenance of the great or opulent, with- 
out the means of paying my weekly board, and in the 
midst of a bar uncommonly distinguished by eminent 
members.'^ His talents and industry, however, soon lifted 
him into plenty and reputation. 

To an observing eye, these particulars of his early history 
are not merely fortuitous and unmeaning events and circum- 



stances ; but they are pregnant with the wise designs of 
Providence. Providence, without interfering with man's 
free agency, or obviating the necessity of individual effort, 
makes a great character ; and He has a way of making it. 
In ninety-nine instances out of a hundred, this way is through 
poverty and suffering. God is the author of providence, and 
the author of nature ; and His laws in both are analogous, 
and illustrative of each other. Go out upon the mountain, 
and you will find the nest of the eagle, that ** child of the 
sun," composed of a few naked sticks, and built upon the 
rock. You will find him a scorner of luxury and down. 
You will find him rearing his young in a royal poverty, and 
driving them forth into the storm to strengthen their pinions, 
as soon as they are fledged. Go out upon the plain, and 
you will find that the oak^ whose gnarled trunk is fit for the 
bulwarks of navies, is an old acquaintance of the tempest 
You will find that it began to struggle with the elements 
when a sapling. So it is also with the eagle or the oak in 
human character. The character of our Gnarled One is 
connected with his early history as effect is connected with 
cause. His youthful struggles developed the germ of great- 
ness in his nature. They fired his ambition ; they aroused 
his energies ; they hardened his fortitude ; they disciplined 
his patience ; they kindled his sympathies ; they taught him 
self-reliance ; they gave him habits of industry which were 
as necessary to his comfort as was the very air that he 
breathed. If his will was of iron, it was because its ore 
had been purged in the furnace. If his perseverance was 
inflexible and conquerless, it was because it had been " a 
man of war from his youth." If his affections, domestic and 
social, were like jewels — vivid, incorruptible and precious, 
it was because they had been formed in the volcanic region. 
If his great heart bled over the wrongs and sufferings of the 
poor, it was because it had itself tasted poverty's bitter cup. 
If he was ever ready to extend his hand in encouragement 
and counsel to the unbefriended and aspiring young man, it 
was because he himself had began his professional career, 
in adversity and neglect, and ** without the means of paying 
his weekly board." It is good for a man," says the prophet, 
" that he bear the yoke in his youth ;" and all experience 
confirms the truth of revelation. 

Decision of character — energy of character — simplicity 
of character — integrity of character — fearlessness of char- 
acter — they were his ; and it is such noble traits that 



. 8 

compose the royal diadem upon Miuihood's brow, and the 
lion-robe upon Manhood's shoulders. 

That his character, however, had faults-, and great faults, 
must not be denied. But over these we would draw the 
veil of oblivion. We would bury them in the grave toge- 
ther with that mortality from which they chiefly flowed. 
If he had been faultless, he would not have been human. 
His errors, rather than his virtues, unite him with his race. 
Great allowance, besides, should be made for the infirmities 
of ofte, who, at so early an age, was deprived of the holy 
influences of parental instruction and guidance; who had 
the peculiar temperament of genius ; whose life for the most 
part was spent amid the smoke and turmoil of political 
warfare ; and who was surrounded by a public opinion so 
monstrous and so diabolical, that it required the sacrifice of 
human life as an atonement for an injury or an imaginary 
insult. No one, I think, regretted his errors more deeply 
than did the lamented dead himself. Some of them were 
doubtless inexcusable ; but they were all human. And they 
may remind us, that man, in his best estate, is a mere worm 
of the dust, and needs to be cleansed in a Saviour's blood. 
They may exhibit by contrast the holy and majestic char- 
acter of Him, who, amid sorer temptations, remained with- 
out spot or blemish — his Kedeemer and ours. 

The Student. I was next to speak of this great man 
as a student. Gifted with natural talents of the highest 
order, he did not suffer them to run to waste or to riot, by 
neglecting their cultivation ; but he early began the work 
of disciplining and improving them, and began it in earnest. 
To a log-schoolhouse in his native county, where he obtained 
the rudiments of an ordinary English education, he was 
indebted for all the systematic instruction he ever enjoyed. 
Those Platonic shades of philosophy and science, where 
the mind is disciplined, polished and stored with knowledge, 
by a long and methodical course of study and tuition, he 
was never privileged to enter. The friendship and society 
of Chancellor Wythe, however, were to him a school in 
almost every department of learning to which his taste or 
ambition aspired ; though they could not, of course, alto- 
gether remove the disadvantages under which he labored. 
But he made the most of his time and opportunities. Ho 
applied himself to the cultivation of his mind, with an 
enthusiasm which knew no fatigue, and could be discour- 
aged by no difficulties. Hi? duties for the day in the Chan- 



eery office dlscliarged, he devoted his nights to reading and 
reflection. While his fellow clerks went out into gaming 
houses and frivolous society in search of amusement, he 
found it at home with his books and his own thoughts. His 
companions were sages and orators and bards. His solitary 
taper burned deep into the night-watches. His weary brow 
might often throb with pain, but it must, not be impatient 
for repose ; for it was destined for the laurel, and the laurel 
must be purchased with a price. What cared he for sleep, 
except as a means of refreshment 1 It might be sweet and 
luxurious, but it robbed him of his time, and he knew he 
would have enough of it in his grave. It was by application 
like this, through a long series of years, that the foundations 
of his powerful intellect were laid ; that he supplied in a 
great measure the deficiencies of a scanty education ; and. 
that he was enabled, at last, to so far outstrip other young 
men of his own age, who had enjoyed all the advantages 
which wealth and the best literary institutions in our land 
could furnish — many of them his equals, perhaps, in natural 
talents. 

We are apt to attribute intellectual greatness almost 
exclusively to natural endowments. We behold the orator 
in his might — we are amazed at his wonderful powers — our 
hearts bound, our blood tingles, our lips hold their breath, 
at his words ; and we are ready to exclaim, •' the gods have 
come down to us in human form !"• It is not so. But man 
rather, by the struggles of severe and patient toil, has been 
climbing up to the gods. While others have been asleep, 
he has been awake. While they have been idle and frivo- 
lous, he has been industrious and masculine. He has known 
toil, in comparison to which the bearing of hods or the 
swinging of sledges is child's play. By the furnace of 
Vulcan, in heat and in sweat, has he forged his chains and 
his bugles. In the camp of Mars. by marchings and counter- 
marchings, by charges and retreats, by battle and wounds, 
has he i educed to subjection and order and strength the 
resistless army of his mental powers. And without such 
toil, without such training, there can never be anything 
beyond the semblance of greatness. The mind by nature 
is in a state of entire ignorance, and entire rebellion to the 
will. Genius, though it may accumulate knowledge with 
more facility than ordinary talent, is nevertheless harder to 
discipline, fi-om its very eccentricities. The great man 
before us, whose youth was devoted so earnestly to mental 



10 

rultivation, remarks : " I inherited nothing but infancy and 
ignorance." 

The Okator. But if the Muses are thus severe in their 
exactions, they are ever generous in their rewards. 

The character and attributes of Mr. Clay's oratory are 
too well known to require illustration. Possessing a tall 
and commancling figure, a sonorous and musical voice, a 
^ face that mirrored every emotion of his soul, a strong and 
• iucid logic, a vivid imagination, a pure and copious diction, 
a mind stored with extensive knowledge, a heart which was 
the abode of benevolent and sublime sentiments, a power of 
concentration that buried him in his subject, and-a vehemence 
that set everything in conflagration around'him— he has had 
few, if any, superiors in his noble art. 

His eloquence was marvellous. In one of his great efforts, 
beginning in a soft and subdued manner, broken only by an 
occasional peal of distant thunder, his discourse would 
gather darkness and fury, as it rolled upward, till, at len8,th, 
the whole heavens became overspread, and amid "the 
tumultuous roar of oratory, you would almost imagine your- 
self to be in a convu'sion of the elements — fightning's 
blazing, winds howling, torrents descending around you. 
How noble, how god -like does man appear in the exercise 
of such great powers ! Nature, with her seas, her fluids 
and her sun, can make a thunder-storm ; but here was a 
human. mind that could make such a storm ! Here was a 
human mind of which the universe in its riches and giant- 
en rgies was an emblem. 

The Patriot. We come now to behold these great 
powers of mind devoted to the service of his country. 

Cradled in that dreadful struggle for independence, which 
gave to the world the American Republic, he afterwards 
did no dishonor to the patriotic period of his birth. What- 
ever difference of opinion there may be as to the soundness 
and _ expediency of some of the public measures he 
originated, or advocated, there can be none in relation to 
the sincerity of his devotion to the honor and welfare of 
his country. He loved every inch of soil in her broad 
lernfoiy, and with the affection which a son has for his 
mother. His patriotism was too great to be circumscribed 
within the narrow bounds of sectional lines. With him there 
was no North, no South, no East, no West. A purer, a 
loftier, a inoie fearless patriot never breathed. Partisan 
fetters he spurned. The part of the demagogue he could 



n 

I3ever play. Meanness in politics he abhorred as much s.s 
he did meanness in social life. He was ambitious, and 
inextinguishably so ; but his ambition never corrupted his 
publ'.c virtue. He would " rather be right, than be Presi- 
dent." Here is his own definition of public virtue : "That 
patriotism, which catching its inspiration from the immortal 
God, and leaving at an immeasurable distance below, all 
lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates 
and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion 
and of death itself^tJiat is public virtue.*' He was in the 
councils of his country for near half a century. The great 
measures of State he originated, and which evinced his 
public spirit, are too numerous to mention, He did more 
than, any other man of his age to extend our commerce, to 
improve our rivers, to build our factories, and to develope the 
rich resources of our soil. Fleets, and bridges, and roadsp 
and cities, were his creations. Providence seems to have 
had a great design of benevolence to our country in keep- 
ing him alive until our sectional difhculties w^re settled. 
And God he thanked, that those eyes which shed their first 
tears amid the terrible struggle that brought this Union into 
existence, were not called upon to shed their last ones upon 
its shattered and blackened ruins. 

I have said that his name would be cherished by posterity. 
Go forward a hundred years upon the path of our cou-ntry's 
destiny. Our ancient forests have all disappeared. Our fertile 
valleys are all filled with bloom and with harvests. Our 
vast prairies are covered with flocks. Cities send up their 
roar of commerce and trafhc where solitude now sways her 
sceptre. The fire-horse bathes his impatient feet in the 
waves of the Atlantic, and thunders away over his iron 
track, to cool them in the Pacific. Our population has 
swollen into the teeming magnificence of a hundred 
million. They are all freemen. They hold the destiriy of 
the world in their hands. They, themselves, are half the 
world. And they all repeat the name, and reverence the 
memory of CLAY. They know that his powerful arm 
first set in motion a hundred of the mighty industrial wheels 
that are rolling and clanging around them. And they are 
familiar with the great measures of pacification by which 
he saved their glorious Union, when Fanaticism would have 
torn it to pieces.* Preserving by his wisdom what Washing- 

* The insane ravings of Northern abolitionists remind one of Milton's mob of 
" devils, who would rather reign in hell, than serve in heaven. 



12 

ton achieved by his sword, he occupies a pLice almost 
equal to his in their affections. Go forward another hundred 
years — and then another — and then another — but when will 
the names of Demosthenes and Cicero cease to be house- 
hold words'? 

"How' sleep the great who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest ! 
When spring with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod, 
Than Fancy's ieet have ever trod." 
By fairy hands their knell is rung, 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
There honor comes a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay. 
And Freedom shall awhile repair 
To dwell a weeping hermit there 1" 

The Christian. But let us regard this great man from 
a yet more interesting point of view. Let us behold his 
cheek bathed with the tears of penitence for his sins, and 
his mighty tongue set on fire over the wonders of 
a Redeemer's love. 

For Christianity he ever entertained a profound reverence. 
His was a mind too vast, too luminous and too serious for 
either scepticism or ridicule — that offspring of ignorance 
■ or levity — to find in it a m^oment's lodgdement. He 
regarded the religion of Jesus not only as being of divine 
origin, but also as the mjst ennobling, the most fertilising, 
and the most comforting blessing ever bestowed upon the 
human family. He recognised the dealings of an all-wise 
Providence in the affairs both of individuals and nations. 
In a speech which he made in the U. S. Senate, during the 
administration of Gen. Jackson, advocating a resolution to 
request the President to appoint and recommend a National 
Fast, on account of that terrible scourge, the Asiatic 
Cholera, which had extended its ravages to the American 
continent, and filled the public mind with consternation and 
dismay, he remarks : " I am a member of no religious 
sect, and I am not a professor of religion. I regret that I 
am not. I wish that I were, a?id I trust that I shall he. I 
have and always have had a profound regard for Christianity, 
the religion of my fathers, and for its rites, its usages and 
its observances." That this wonderful universe was made 
in its magnificence by chance, and is governed in its har- 
monies by accident, he never dreamed. That it is dis- 
creditable to a man, though he were covered all over with 
the world's laurels, to worship his Maker in his sanctuary, 
he was so simple-minded as never to discover. 



13 

It was late in life, however — a jDrocrastination which he 
afterwards deeply regretted— when, by a public profession 
of religion, he solemnly dedicated himself to the service of 
his God, and gave his important testimony, in common with 
thousands of the earth's great ones before him, of the utter 
insufficiency of the world, with all its trumpets of fame, 
and all its employments of patriotism and letters, to cleanse 
a guilty conscience or satisfy the thirsts of an immortal soul. 
He was baptised, and admitted into our holy communion, 
some six or seven years ago, by the Rector of Christ Church, 
Lexington, Thus was the desire which he had before so 
publicly expressed in the Senate, to be a member of the 
church, at length, in God's mercy, fulfilled. He was now 
numbered with God's people. He had now a spiritual as 
well as a mental relationship with David, and Solomon, and 
Isaiah, and Paul. So long a traveller over life's dreary 
wilderness — so battered by the storm, so scorched by the 
sun — so weary and so thirsty — he had at last found a shelter 
in which to repose, and a fountain of pure and unfailing 
water at which to drink. He had found a glory in prospect, 
compared with which all the glory of the world is dimness 
and vanity. I know something of his Christianity from 
personal observation. I enjoyed, in common with thousands 
of his countrymen, his acquaintance; I have often preached 
in the church at which he, when at home, was a constant 
and punctual attendant ; I have met him in the councils of 
the diocese to which he belonged ; and I can bear testimony 
of his sincere interest in the welfare of our beloved church, 
and of his most serious and most devout deportment in 
God's house. A resolution was introduced into the Ken- 
tucky Diocesan Convention, some two or three years ago, 
declaring it to be the duty of the church to make more 
ample and available provision for the religious instruction 
of the black population. The resolution Irad no warmer, 
as it had no abler, supporter than Mr. Clay. You could 
see the benevolence of the man and the christian in his 
whole manner on the occasion. 

As Mr. Clay presided at the celebrated debate between 
Drs. Campbell and Rice, on the subject of Baptism, and 
had, therefore, a good opportunity to weigh in his powerful 
mind the argument in favor of immersion, as an exclusive 
mode of baptism, it may not be amiss to remark, that he 
received the sacrament hy pouring, not by immersion, as 
was erroneously reported at the time. 

2 



14 



And how a christian can die ! 



«' The world recedes, it disappears ; 
Hpaven opens on my eyes ; my ears 
With sounds seraphic ring : 
Lend, lend your wings — I mount, I iiy; 
O grave, where is thy victory ! 
O death, where is thy sting f 

For a person, whose days have been spent in obscurity— 
who has been trampled upon by poverty and contempt — who 
has formed few worldly associations, and has few or no 
friends — to die calmly and submissively, taking a purely 
philosophical view of the matter, would not seem to require 
a very great struggle with our instinctive love of life and 
dread of death. But for this son of glory to unloose his 
mighty grasp upon human society — to break up political 
associations of the most thrilHng character, running through 
the long period of fifty years — to leave many of his own 
p-reat public measures when they were but half developed 
in their practical workings — to forsake multitudes of the 
warmest and most devoted friends that a man ever had —to 
depart from the scenes of his triumphs and his fam.e, and 
depart from them forever — would seem to require a severe 
and bitter struggle, though the body might be staggering 
under the weight of years. And yet, for months before the 
messenger of death arrived, he was even joyfully awaiting 
his approach ; and he finally bade adieu to the world with- 
out a single sigh or a single regret. Such is the power of 
Christian faith. It can reconcile to the grave the great as 
well as the obscure — the prosperous as well as the down- 
trodden — the young as well as the old. But supposing he 
had never connected himself with the church — supposing 
he had had nothing about his death-bed to dispel its shades 
but the wish that he were a christian ! I thank God that I 
am not called upon to paint the dark picture. He said he 
**was going home." Going home — they all *' confessed that 
they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth." Going 
Jiomc — " Our Father, who art in heaven." 

The Corpse. We come now to fix our eyes for a 
mompint, in terror, upon the great man, the outlines of 
whose earthly history and character we have traced, as a 
corpse. His venerable body, pallid and cold, lying in the 
rotunda of the capitol, soon to be committed to the dust — 
the streets of our cities, and our public buildings throughout 
the land, clad in the emblems of mourning — our national 
banner lowered upon all our ships and fortifications — minute 



15 

guns sending their solemn reverberations over hill and dale — 
seldom before has death spoken to us in a voice so loud, so 
awful, and so impressive. 

And what is death? It is easy to answer the question in 
a general way. It is something which destroys human life. 
Something which mocks at human greatness and human 
affection, and baffles human skill. Something which has been 
ravaging the world for six thousand years, and has made 
the earth we inhabit one vast sepulchre of departed genera- 
tions. Something that is traveling upon our own path, and 
will speedily bear us away upon a bourne from which we 
shall never return. Something whose terrors and remorse- 
lessness are looking through the glassy eyes of the emaciated 
face upon which we are gazing. Something which was sent 
into the world to scourge man for his sins. Tliis much v/e 
may know of it, but no more. We see its effects upon the 
body, and we are told the moral reason of its existence ; 
but we know nothing of its nature. It is as mysterious as 
is life itself. 

It may seem strange, however, that death should have 
dominion over the christian. That the Almighty, weary 
and angry with evil doers, should deliver them up to the 
King of Terrors, does not seem surprising; but why should 
He thus scourge His own people — the lovers of His law — 
the redeemed of His Son 1 The common answer to this 
question is, that death to them is a blessing ; that it is a 
tempest which wafts them to the port where they would be. 
But this answer is not free from objection. For, after we 
have said all the handsome things in our power about deatli, 
it must still be admitted to be in its manner a dreadful 
scourge. How piercing its pains. How heart-rending the 
final farewell. How frightful its effects upon the body. 
God if He thought proper, could open a less gloomy way 
than this, for His people to pass to their rest. But the 
mystery will, peihaps, be solved, if we suppose that God in 
death would keep before the world a perpetual monument 
of His anger at sin. And the more upright and virtuous 
the man whom it destroys — the more magnificent his 
intellect, and the greater the degree of his usefulness to his 
race, the more awful, of course, the monument. Gather 
around the bier, then, of our departed great one. See how 
death has reduced his revered form into ruins and pallors ! 
See how he has silenced this tongue of thunder, and palsied 
this hand of charity ! Follow the corpse to its narrow resting- 



IG 

place. Behold it imprisoned in darkness and solitude — 
the food of lizards and worms! O, what a terrible monu- 
ment of the guilt of the sin with which he was infected 
when he came into the world. 

The Disembodied Spirit. But we are told that when 
the body goes to the dust from whence it came, the soul 
returns to God who gave it; and reason as well as revelation 
teaches the sublime truth. 

I do not propose to enter into an argument to prove the 
immortality of the soul. I simply ask if it is possible that 
any rational person can look upon this corpse, and look 
down into this grave, and say that this is the last of this 
mighty being ? Are you going to class him with the brute 
and the clod ? Is this the melancholy end of such great- 
ness ? That marvellous mind, which could stamp its image 
upon its country and upon the world — which could fill all 
comhig time with its glory, and nourish all posterity with 
its thoughts and its sentiments — which could set in motion 
wheels of industry that will continue to roll on for a thousand 
years, and spread the sails of fleets that will forever whiten 
the ocean — which could scour the universe on its wings of 
imagination, and thunder like the heavens themselves in its 
oratory — is that mind now extinguished ? has it gone down 
to darkness and oblivion 1 is it the food of the worm % No; 
in its capacity, its energy, its effects, its desires, its mystery, 
it had its emblem in eternity, and it therefore belonged to 
eternity. 

"Shade of the might}^ !" — but a few days ago, and it was 
with us. We could hear its words ; we could see its smiles, 
and feel its power. But it is now gone; it has vanished 
from our sight ; it is no more an inhabitant of the earth. 
In what particular place in the great universe it now dwells ; 
amid what magnificent landscapes it reposes ; what addi- 
tional faculties and powers have been imparted to it ; what 
clouds it makes its chariots ; what winds its wings ; what 
sublime amplitudes of space it explores — we know not. 
But this we do know — " eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
neither have entered into the heart of man the things which 
God hath prepai^d for those who love him," This we do 
know, that the souls of the righteous are satisfied in all 
their immortal yearnings and aspirations ; for " they can 
hunger no more, they can thirst no more"; and millions of 
eloquent voices perpetually cry, "Alleluia! the Lord God 
omnipotent reigneth !" Here, then., is a tao-fold immor- 



17 

talitij — an immortality upon earth, and an immortality in 
heaven. 

The Eloquent Preacher. The life of such a man 
should make its proper impression upon us. It is one great 
voice of eloquence. And I would beg you in conclusion, by 
way of recapitulation, to listen for a moment to this voice. 
Let me be silent, and let him speak. His voice, so thi-illing 
while he was living, is now more thrilling than ever. It 
now borrows its imagery and pathos from death as well as 
life — from heaven as well as earth. He encourages, he 
counsels, he warns, he inspires us. He cries to our young 
men fro7ii the ohscure condition in which he was horn : *' Be 
not ashamed of poverty and humble parentage. If your 
early years are cast amid adversity, you can claim kindred 
with the most illustrious of the earth. Providence has 
ordained such a condition to you for your good. It is better 
to make an obscure name distinguished by your own efforts 
and virtues, than to disgrace a distinguished one by your 
imbicility and vices. It is better to be the first of your house 
than the last of it." Ho cries to them from amid the 
flickermgs of the solitary taper which ivitnessed his early 
struggles after hnoidedge : " This is the way in which the 
world's great ones are made. Be discouraged by no 
difficulties. Gather up your fragments of time. Waste 
not a moment. Fools and fops may ridicule you, but they 
shall yet crouch in conscious imbecility at your feet Scatter 
your seed broad-cast upon the generous soil, and patiently 
await the coming harvest." He cries to them from amid 
his great efforts of oratory : " Man inheriting nothing but 
infancy and ignorance, can make himself powerful and 
sublime. He can grasp the trident of Neptune to sway the 
tumultuous passions of his race. If I had been idle and 
frivolous, like my fellow clerks, my name would have 
gone down with theirs into oblivion. Of what value are 
your moments ! A moment is a thunderbolt ! A moment is 
a sun!" He cries to our statesmen Irom amid the affections 
of his country, and the halo of his faine : " This is the 
noble reward of patriotism. Love your country ; labor 
forher welfare ; cherish her institutions; defend her union; 
and she shall wrap her own bespangled banner around you ; 
she shall clothe herself in mourning at your departure ; 
and she shall be thronged by a myriad posterity, who shall 
reverence your name, and rehearse your acts forever." 
He cries to us all from heside the font at which he kneeled 



18 

for laptism : " I have long sought happiness hi the worhl, 
and have never found it. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. 
I have had no comfort in my afflictions. I consider it the 
duty of man to worship and obey the glorious Being who is 
his creator and preserver. I am ready to take up ihe cross. 
I feel my need of pardon and moral cleansing. I trust in 
Jesus Christ as ray saviour. I pray that his divine Spirit may 
renovate and purify me." He cries to us fro?n his bed of 
death. As his lips grow white — as his eyes grow dim, he 
turns to us and cries : " See how a christian can die ! I 
bid adieu to the world — I consign my body to the ^ dust, 
without a single regret. If I were an unpardoned sinner, 
how miserable would be my condition ! My soul would 
shudder over its doom. My bones would tremble ; my 
flesh would be pierced with lire. It is a tremendous thing 
to die!" He cries to us from the grave: ** All flesh is 
grass. Come near, ye who are great, as well as ye who 
are obscure — kings and warriors, orators and bards — come 
Bear, and look upon my ghastly face, that ye may learn 
your own certain doom. My eyes are sightless ! My arms 
are motionless ! I am imprisoned in darkness ! The worm 
revels over me ! I once was alive, and saw the sun like 
you. Death may long delay his coming, but v.dien he does 
come, he will know how to strangle his victim " He cries 
to us from amid his glory i?i the skies. W ith his own 
burning face he looks down upon us in pity as we grovel in 
care and prerplexity, and cries — *' immortal beings ! lift up 
your eyes to these clouds and rainbows ! Here is a destiny 
■worthy of your noble faculties, and worthy of your highest 
.■ambition to attain!" 



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